


Friends in Unlikely Places

by KerriLovegood



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Gen, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 12:56:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16893024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KerriLovegood/pseuds/KerriLovegood
Summary: On one of her first days as the Herald of Andraste, Eliza Cadash tries to literally run away from her problems.It goes fine, until she runs into another dwarf-sized problem, and ends up meeting one of her greatest friends.





	Friends in Unlikely Places

**Author's Note:**

> I want to see more of the Inquisitor resisting their role towards the beginning of the game, since once their innocence is believed, they are just thrown into it all. Of course, the anchor keeps them there, but my Inquisitor, for one, would rather ignore that.
> 
> For context: my Inquisitor may seem very anti-Orzammar, but that's because she was born casteless, so she does not remember the place fondly.

On one of her first days as the Herald of Andraste, Eliza Cadash tried to run away. She didn’t know the geography of Ferelden well, but looked to the green wound like the mouth of a monster in the sky, and decided her direction was  _ away from that.  _

 

Eliza had taken extra rations, claiming that the  _ thing _ on her hand increased her appetite, and packed a satchel full of supplies. Covered by the welcome night, she sat on the rough wooden floor of the cabin they had provided her, and took steadied breaths. One of the boards groaned beneath her, and she realized how severely she was rocking back and forth. Hands shaking like a small child woken from nightmares, she laced up her boots. There was a candle beside the bed, dimly illuminating the room and casting huge shadows that morphed together along the walls. Another light, electric and pulsing, sparked from her left palm. The bright green of it lit the hardened features of her face, like everything inside her was pulled taught. And still her hands shook. 

 

Suddenly, her hand seized up, fingers clenching around the crackling light. “Shut it, you,” she said angrily.

 

The world had never felt so impossibly large before, she though. And then,  _ You’re a fucking dwarf, of course you’re nug-sized. _

 

But still, it ate at her. There was an itch somewhere deep inside her, and nothing could cure it; this ticking impulse to  _ run, run, run.  _ What an absolute  _ farce,  _ wasn’t it? This ‘Herald of Andraste’ business -- oops, the savior is here, and she had just been watching the whole magey-templar mess because she wanted to sell some lyrium!

 

Everyone needed to make a living, yeah? Now all these humans suddenly wanted her as part of the Chantry, and she had almost wanted to scream in the Seeker’s face  _ why wasn’t I allowed in before?  _

 

So, it wasn’t really a question or a debate: Eliza was never going to be a hero, never wanted to be a hero. Lifting her hand still throbbing with light, she impatiently ran it through the short, coarse strands of her hair that curled at the end.

 

She stood, pacing along the length of the room. Stopping by a vase on the table, she turned her open palm towards it and let the green light hit the thin silhouette of a sparse collection of flowers. In this lighting, the color couldn’t be made it, but she knew already that they were sunset orange. No one had told her who had brought them. No one told her much of  _ anything _ , just...asked and took and  _ accused. _ The only one who hadn’t seemed to accuse her of anything was Josephine. Beautiful, hardworking Josephine.

 

Had the ambassador gotten flowers on her own desk since all of this began? Eliza wondered. Certainly, she deserved it. Staring for a long minute, at the dim shadow on the opposite wall, Eliza wondered if she would ever even see a growing flower again. 

 

...They did still grow, didn’t they? Even when the sky was shitting demons everywhere?

 

Probably not her best metaphor, but she huffed out a laugh all the same, alone in the darkness. Plucking one of the flowers from the vase, she shoved it in her bag, a couple petals falling to the floor.

 

A few minutes passed, and somehow Eliza found herself on her knees in front of the flickering candle on the bedside table. Her hands were clasped awkwardly in front of her on the table, a faint trace of green still visible between her tattooed fingers. A shuddering breath, and she spoke.

 

“Hey, uh, Maker. That’s okay, right? Never been sure if I should call you ‘Maker’ or ‘The Maker.’ You ask me, they’re both snobby.” A pause. Her shoulders sagged. “Not that you  _ would _ ever ask me. I doubt you give a shit. Whatever. Anyway, it’s me again. Eliza, if you’re keeping track of us ‘children of the stone’ or whatever...The day I see a rock give birth is the day I kiss Maferath’s ass...That didn’t make sense.” Poking her eyes open, she glanced around the room quickly before laying her forehead down against her hands. “But, what I’m trying to say is...I’m scared. I wanna...remember what happened? I have a business to get bet back to, not this end-of-the-world agenda. I’m not getting involved. That’s for heroes and the righteous and idiots with swords. Not me.” Voice going soft and slow, she added, “So just...guide me to where I belong. I don’t wanna keep them waiting.” She cleared her throat. “So uh...thanks.” 

 

She blew the candle out, and saw for a moment the smoke rise and swirl into the air before everything was dark. Then there was no hesitation, just the urge still pushing her forward. A slight smile formed on her face as she pulled a glove over her left hand, blocking out that constant reminder of this nightmare ( _ hey, maybe she could dream now? Maybe this was a dream? _ ). Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dark; it was a mode of operation she was used to. Throwing her satchel around her shoulders, she reached  _ up _ for the doorknob (damn humans), pushed the door open very gently, slipped through the crack, and was gone. 

 

It was a matter of acting casual after that. Walking with purpose, but not like she was hiding something. And to not let them see enough of her to know who she was. She had left her bow and quiver behind, knowing it made her stick out. Dwarves using anything but swords wasn’t exactly common (and Tethras wouldn’t let her touch that magnificent crossbow of his).  

 

“Evenin’” Eliza said briskly to a guard outside the main gate. She tapped at her bag and rolled her eyes dramatically as if to say  _ Can’t believe the boss is making me do this, you know?  _ The guard smiled sympathetically, and nodded at her as she passed by. The moment of false solidarity passed as she looked at the wide snowy plain laid out in front of her. It looked lonely in the moonlight; no soldiers ran drills and no messengers came and went. There was still a faint glow from the blacksmith, which she turned away from, picking a path that wound into the mountains and away from the small churchyard-turned-headquarters.

 

Eliza shivered. Nothing was spared in times of war, she thought, nothing was holy. She remembered the way everywhere had become a battleground during the Blight. That was one of the only times she had felt welcome in a Chantry -- no one had cared about the dwarf slipping among other refugees, drowning in their own moans of plague or hunger or grief.

 

As she walked, she watched puffs of her breath mix into the night air, like the blown-out wick of the candle after her prayer. The snow wasn’t a new layer, and it crunched beneath her feet. The path was trodden brown from the dirty boots of travelers into the snow. Once she reached the curve of it that dipped beyond the trees and beyond Haven, she ran. 

 

Every part of her demanded  _ faster, more, don’t ever turn back. _ She laughed, letting it break loose on the wind that whipped through her hair. All of it be damned.  _ This _ was what she needed: the numbness and the open air. 

 

The trek turned uphill. She encountered steep and uneven ground, slippery with the snow. Her pace slowed, but never stopped. It must have been an hour later with how much the moon was rising higher in the sky. Her throat was dry and hoarse, and she rummaged for the canteen in her bag. Swishing it around, she found it nearly empty and returned it to the bag without drinking any. Damn, she knew she’d forgotten something. She’d save it for later. 

 

Suddenly, there was a rustling near one of the trees uphill. She stopped abruptly. In a moment, she had unsheathed a dagger from her waistband and was standing alert. 

 

“Very brave,  _ Herald _ ,” came a voice from in the shadows. It was a woman’s voice; sarcastic, with nothing posh about it.

 

“Don’t call me that shit,” Eliza spat, turning to locate the speaker. There was an armored silhouette still some twenty feet away, skirting the shadows. Her hand itched to grab an arrow before remembering she didn’t have any. “I never asked for it! Your inquisition will be better without me, I  _ promise. _ ”

 

“I heard what you did at the Breach,” the woman replied, voice even. “Sounds like we could use you.”

 

“That wasn’t  _ me! _ ” Eliza screamed and raised her left arm, where the now agitated mark glowed dimly beneath it. “It was this  _ blasted _ thing!”

 

“And the ability to control it? All the fighting you did? That wasn’t you?”

 

She couldn’t take it. She hurled the dagger in the direction of the voice. It shot through the air, and then there was a soft  _ thud _ as it collided with the trunk of a tree just behind the figure. 

 

Eliza was impressed. Whoever they were, they had quick reflexes if they were able to duck in time. With the average height of a human, it should have collided with their chest. And if this Inquisition was worth their shit, they’d have sent someone armored after her. “Show yourself!” She yelled out in a rage. There were slow footsteps, and, thinking fast, she reached to pull out another blade. But it wasn’t fast enough.

 

There was a familiar sound in the air, like a small gust of wind. Before there was time to react, an arrow cut through her glove and scraped her right hand. The skin on the back of her hand tore open, and she gasped but did not fall over. Luckily, it hadn’t gotten lodged in her flesh or gone completely through it. The arrow was still intact a few feet behind her, and as she watched, a couple drops of blood fell into the snow, looking black in the moonlight. 

 

With her left hand, she retrieved her extra blade, and pointed it at the figure still slowly walking towards her.

 

“Sorry!” the woman said, voice sounding awkward and...kind? Now. “I didn’t want to do that.”

 

“What?” Eliza responded, surprised but not dropping the blade. Her other hand now felt oddly warm with the trickle of blood that gathered beneath the thin material of the glove. Before she had time to say anything more, the woman came into view, stepping out into the clearing between the trees. She had some color of light hair- it was impossible to tell in this darkness- pulled into an updo. Freckles dotted her pale skin like she had known the sun her entire life. Held at her side was a bow, with a quiver of arrows strung around her back. And she was...short. 

 

“Andraste’s holy shit, you’re a dwarf!” Eliza gasped. 

 

“So are you,” the woman said awkwardly, now some three feet in front of her.

 

“It’s...not what I expected,” Eliza explained. “So  _ that’s  _ why I couldn’t hit you. I thought I was gettin’ slow.”

 

“Your aim is a little off, though” the woman laughed. 

 

There was a pause. Neither of them moved, unaware of what to say next. 

 

Then, as if being prompted, the woman pointed at herself “Inquisition Scout Harding. Uh, that’s my name.”

 

“I’d shake your hand, Harding, but my hands are a little preoccupied.”

 

“Yeah, do you want some help with that? I can bandage it, so long as you don’t stab me.”

 

Eliza slowly sheathed her blade, then tore off the glove and brought the injured hand to her face to examine it. “Eh, I’ll be fine. It’s mostly a surface wound. Could have been a l _ ot  _ worse if it went any deeper. Impressive bit of archery, though. How did you find me?” 

 

Harding pulled out a strip of fabric from a small pocket in her armor, and handed it to Eliza, who wrapped it around her hand to staunch the blood flow. “That guard you nodded at when you left the main gates? He’s one of sister Leliana’s, and she only trains the best. Knew it was you the moment you went outside. They sent me just a few minutes later.”

 

“And did they send you because you're a dwarf?”

 

           “They sent me because I'm a damn good scout,” Harding replied, slightly defensively. She paused. “And, well...because I wanted to meet you.”

 

            “What?”

 

            “I thought it might be nice seeing another dwarf in the Inquisition. Not in a weird way, just...it’s nice.”

 

“Oh.” Eliza rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably, staring at the ground. Then, her neck snapped up and with a sly grin she said “You ever been to Orzammar, Harding?”

 

She looked nervous, almost embarrassed. “N-No, I haven’t.”

 

Eliza grinned wide and mischievously. “Thank the al-fucking-mighty Maker for that.” She stooped to retrieve the bloody arrow from the ground, and handed it to Harding. “You might want this back. Doesn’t seem I damaged the thing.”

 

Harding took it, staring at Eliza in confusion. “Thank you. I- are you going to attack me now?”

 

“Do ya trust me to look at your bow?”

 

“That’s not an answer.”

 

Eliza laughed. “Just wanna look at it. I swear. Never met another dwarf who could tell ya which end of the bow to hold.”

 

It was Harding’s turn to laugh, as she handed over the instrument into Eliza’s eager hands. “That’s fair. The other kids in my hometown used to stare at me like I was a nug that learned to walk on its hind legs.”

 

The bow was of proper size for a dwarf- something Eliza usually had to work around because she broke a lot of bows and getting custom ones was expensive - and made of a light colored, sturdy wood. Branching out from the grip were carvings forming intricate, swirling patterns. It complemented the tighter, angular designs tattooed across her fingers, which she gently ran over the grooved etchings.

 

“I whittled those patterns myself,” Harding said, noting her focus on them. “My mom was so angry. See, she bought me the bow, when she wanted me to be a seamstress like her. And then I went and damaged the craftsmanship she paid for.”

 

Eliza handed the bow back to her gingerly. “Now you’re a badass, so she can’t be that mad. You’re almost as good a shot as me.”

 

“Do you want another arrow through you?” Harding asked incredulously.

 

Eliza cackled. “Oh, I like you, Harding.  _ And _ I’m gonna kick your ass.”

 

She paused. “Wait. So are you coming back with me  _ before _ I have to knock you out?”

 

“Shit, I mean...I think there are people in your Inquisition I need to stay for,” Eliza said thoughtfully. Rolling her eyes, but still teasing out a smile, she said “Us little people gotta stick together, you know? Maybe if there's two of us, we could stand on each other's shoulders and wear a really long coat and -- Anyway, that’s my decision  _ for now _ . Also-- do you have water?”

 

The scout wordlessly passed over her own canteen, and Eliza gulped greedily, some spilling down her cheeks and stinging in the frozen air. As much as her throat demanded more, she passed it back when she was sure it would still be at least a third full. 

 

Then, she practically hopped into motion, turning back on her own path, and began to walk down the steep slopes of the mountain, the scout a few paces behind her. Glancing down at her left hand, she could still see the faint green glow beneath the glove. Twisting her mouth to one side, she sighed and looked up again, never wavering in her pace. 

 

She wouldn’t be their damn hero, but she would be  _ something _ . So many of these other Inquisition-y types were trying to be something, so she might as well do the same. No promises of how good of a something, though.

 

Her mind wandered to the people who had abandoned good, dependable posts for this. Comfort and safety for that church courtyard-turned-headquarters. Their company wasn’t  _ so  _ horrible. She turned around for a quick addendum:

 

“Oh, and the fact that Lady Montilyet is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen has  _ nothing _ to do with it.”

 

“Huh, I see,” Harding said, nodding slowly. “That kinda makes it seem like it has a  _ little _ something to do with it, though.”

 

“Well, shut it!” Eliza yelled with a laugh. “Or don’t. D’you think telling her she’s the only reason I returned would be dashingly romantic or make me look like a loser?”

 

Harding hopped after her, grunting slightly when she hit the ground and then speeding up so they walked side by side. “Lady Montilyet is the  _ only _ reason, huh?”

“You shot me!” 

 

“As I remember it,  _ you _ admired it.”

 

“Fine. One of two reasons,” Eliza corrected. “The other being that I need to fight you again immediately,  _ when I have my weapon of choice again, _ to prove that there is one master archer dwarf in Thedas, thank you very much. And tell Tethras that fancy crossbows  _ don’t _ count.”

 

“Thank the Maker someone agrees!” Harding said, gesticulating passionately. 

 

And, as the night stretched further on and the almost-familiar sight of Haven blinked into view among the mountains, the two dwarves filled the valley with their laughter and rapid-fire banter recounting their most impressive, absurd shots over the years. 

 

When they trudged, exhausted, back through the gates and Eliza nodded again at the guard who had caught her all those house before, she and Harding had seemed to shrug in unison. It was oddly comforting, this almost-confrontation with her escape attempt, and not embarrassing like she had thought that it might be. This wasn’t a commitment to anything, to the humans’ role for her, she thought, except a promise that she would be there one more day. That she would be whatever it was she could be for  _ one more day. _

 

The Breach still loomed overhead like some ancient monster, and her stomach cringed with fear all over again.

  
Not a hero. But _something._

**Author's Note:**

> I think it's a good summary of who Eliza Cadash in that she gets injured by someone and immediately bonds with them. Harding becomes her best friend in the Inquisition, but I don't think they ever officially settle who is the best archer -- neither of them will concede.


End file.
